


on the brink of

by autopsyofwebs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pining, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopsyofwebs/pseuds/autopsyofwebs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall tries not to think about it. Knowing something and doing something about it are two different things. If anything, he thinks he should feel relief. He’s one of the lucky ones. A lot of people never meet one of their soul mates, much less get to speak to them or see them every day. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he tells himself, and still loses his breath every time he catches Zayn on the stairwell, the crease of his smile, the way he laughs like he’s glad to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the brink of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liferuining_feels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liferuining_feels/gifts).



> my ziall fic exchange! this fic turned out to be kinda challenging but it did make me go outside of my comfort zone which i appreciated. excessive amount of commas as per usual, etc etc. i hope the lovely author who got my exchange enjoys this and i hope mine holds up! um I don't live in the UK as this fic will probably demonstrate so my knowledge of schooling + location is probably wrong so warning in advance! this fic has a lot of pining and probably not enough angst or actual in love shit but i hope everyone enjoys it :D
> 
> also if there's anything that needs to be tagged that i forgot, pls don't hesitate to tell me!
> 
> thank you so much to my beta ilu <3

Niall is sixteen the first time his soul mark shows up, dark and smudged near the pale crease of his elbow. Everybody else is excited for it: his parents, his family, his friends. He mostly feels detached; the ideal is more than nice, but the reality of it couldn’t be farther away. Niall is sixteen and all he wants to do is play the guitar and hang out with his friends. 

He doesn’t remember when exactly it shows up; can’t recall the date and his feelings like his dad can. He only knows it’s important because his life is distinctly separated into a _before_  and an _after_ after that.

-

Zayn is sixteen the first time his soul mate mark shows up, a puzzle piece clear and branded against his elbow. He feels like he’s been doused in cold water and like he’s soaring; his head dizzy with his own happiness at seeing the same mark he’s seen for two years now. His sisters and his mom crowd over it, his baba sending him a happy look once he recognizes the mark. It’s reassuring, more than anything, and he’s almost giddy with it. He can’t help it; he’s always been an old romantic.

He kisses Danny one night, while Ant’s away at camp and it’s just the two of them and the low buzzing from the TV. He settles a hand on Danny’s chest, his heart beating in time with his own rabbit pulse, and falls into him like he was made for it.

-

Niall dates in high school in sporadic fits and bursts that peter out quickly. The idea of soul mates in high school is intoxicating, marketed and branded as so. Most days, Niall is just tired of it. He likes people, but it’s too messy for him sometimes; he wishes he could have the cuddles and kisses and fifa, and none of the emotional attachment or burden of the mark.

By the time he’s about to start college, the hype around it has mostly faded. Social media has blown it wide open, and the fact that most people often have several people with matching soul marks has diminished the mystery around it. Like several others, he’s taken to covering it up every morning with a skin patch. It’s common enough that most people don’t bother asking about it.

He doesn’t think about it most days, but it’s always in the back of his mind, like, _do they fall asleep during their english class_ or _what kind of music do they listen to_ or _I wonder if they get lonely_. It comforts him, to think that someone else might be doing the same thing as him somewhere in the world.

-

Danny is walking away from him and Zayn wants to break something, the dresser, Danny’s guitar, himself. His soul mark burns, and he thumbs at it angrily, his arms tucked close in, the skin of it turning white. It seems to taunt him, in its stark clearness, in the almost sickening relief the first time he saw the mark reflected back at him from his best friend, in the absolutely sickening heartbreak he feels now.

He feels betrayed, like he’s been cheated out of his happy ending, only it’s more like he didn’t even need to be cheated; he fucked everything up on his own just fine.

Danny moves out of his mum’s house for uni in London. Danny and Ant are basically his only friends so he spends most of his time inside, or by himself at the bookstore, or wandering around town. It’s lonely in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.

He picks up smoking somewhere along the way, spray paints shitty graffiti, listens to Drake. Eventually he moves on. Danny is still his fixed point, his Sirius among glittering stars. It isn’t always easy to see him, but it gets easier.

-

Niall’s been in London for two weeks now and it shows, his homesickness piercing through every other day in sharp bursts. He can still remember his mom’s watery smile, his dad’s ruddy face, Bressie’s arms around him, strong and warm as he wished him luck. He wishes he was as unaffected as people see him being.

He’s had to get an apartment, too late to apply for housing, but he’s glad for that now, his roommates weird and clever and kind. There’s Louis, intimidating and loyal, showing him the best washing machine in the building and then pouring lemon juice in his supras; there’s Liam, loud and sweet, capable of downing 4 shots in a row and making Niall homemade chicken soup when he gets sick; there’s Harry, funny and quirky, who does yoga in the afternoon and who he banters surprisingly well with.

It’s the easiest thing he’s had in a long time and he even manages not to wince when Liam shows them his soul mark and asks about his.

“It’s well romantic, having someone made for you out there. I wonder when I’ll meet her?” Liam grins down at his mark, a feather stretched broadly over his forearm.

“’m sure you will mate,” Niall says, clapping his shoulder. Niall wants to hug him, rub a hand over his bristly head. He gets another megawatt smile, Liam’s eyes crinkling.

“Oy Louis you roll your eyes but I caught you writing Mr. Calder in your lab notes the other day, don’t front,” Liam defends, going down in a tangle of limbs when Louis tackles him.

Harry just smiles and shrugs. He’s the strangest person Niall’s met so far, with all the trappings of a typical charming lad, but one who cries over any rom com and seems to know half the people in London.

“I don’t know. It’s kinda scary for me to know that I only belong to one person, or a couple of people. I want to belong to everyone you know? I don’t want to tie myself down.”

Niall rubs at his mark, imagines his soul mate, miles away, doing the same absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

-

Niall’s thinking about calling Harry up to check out the mini-golf place down the street, the one that rents clubs cheap and sells cotton candy even cheaper. He’s done with classes for the day and Harry’s been looking a bit restless lately; it’ll be good for at least one of them. He’s just opening the building door when voices filter through.

“Fuck.” The voice sounds almost amused, definitely exasperated.

“Well what the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

Niall peeks around the door to see three lads all in front of the elevator. Two of the guys are carrying boxes while the other is pushing at the up button, the pressing getting increasingly more violent. He should probably intervene.

“Uh, you know that the elevator is out of order right? It’s been out for ages,” Niall says. 

The three lads all turn to look at him as one. The tallest one lets out a sigh. “See Zayn I told you.”

The guy in the middle, Zayn supposedly, rolls his eyes and looks back at Niall.

“Ok well, do you know where the stairs are then? On the 4th floor as well? This is gonna be fun.” He mumbles the last part to himself.

“Ok Mr. I’m guilting you two into carrying all my boxes so I can slouch around acting like a prat about my English books.”

“Shut it Danny,” Zayn says, shoving at the other guy’s shoulder and then curling a hand around it.

Niall stifles a laugh, hefting his book bag higher up on his shoulder. “S’not so bad. Well I don’t know about the books, but I live on that floor too. The stairwell is just right behind you, down the hall and to the left.”

He waits until the two guys have gotten the boxes and gone down the hall, jostling and laughing at each other. Zayn is still staring forlornly at the elevator.

“So you new here? I’m Niall.”

The guy turns to look at him. He's all pretty eyes and set mouth, but his handshake is gentle in the best way. 

“Zayn. Yeah just transferred to the uni down the road, freshman.”

“Hey, me too. Well hope you like it, pretty nice area here, rains quite a bit but that’s London for you,” Niall says, trying not to ramble. Zayn nods, then blinks, this slow, dreamy fan that Niall is pretty sure isn’t meant on purpose.

Niall nods his head, gesturing down the hall. “Well, after you. Don’t want those guys to run off with your stuff now yeah.”

Zayn laughs, this quick, bright thing, the motion transforming his entire face until Niall’s laughing too, the gesture helpless even though he hadn’t really meant it as a joke. Zayn turns and enters the stairwell, puling it open for the both of them. He can still hear the voices of the other two echoing above, and Zayn shouts, with a grin, “Oy, careful with my books Ant!”

One of the boys yells something down Niall can’t understand, and Zayn laughs, rolling his eyes. “They’re some of my mates helping me move in,” he tells Niall, “though I don’t know why since they’re bloody useless,” he yells and laughter echoes down.

“So why’d you transfer?” Niall asks.

“Well this was my first choice and I was waitlisted and managed to squeeze by, but they didn’t have any more room in housing, so here I am.” Zayn turns back to grin down at him, his shoulders raised in a shrug, drawing attention to the massive amount of ink on his arms. Niall feels his eyebrows raising and he tries to school them into a more normal expression, though he thinks he just ends up looking worried because Zayn casts a look back at him. It’s out of the ordinary that’s all; a lot of people still get tattoos but they’re difficult to get, slips and certificates of soul marks and special ink having to be presented.

The sleeve is quite intricate and Niall’s not close enough to see all the details, can see crossed fingers and a stereo, but not much else. Still, it’s impressive and Niall tries to angle his head down subtly to see more when Zayn slips, his foot sliding right off the concrete step. A startled sound gets caught in his throat and Niall automatically grabs his bicep, right above his elbow, Zayn’s side pressed all along his front, and steadies him with a surprised huff. He’s still a step higher, Niall having to look up at him.

They’re close; Niall can’t remember the last time he was this close to someone that wasn’t his mum. Zayn's face takes up the whole of his vision: his dark eyes, heavy lids, the way his mouth is plush and open slightly in surprise. Something sharp and fizzing sparks up his spine and Niall feels a warm and aching rush swell through him and melt into his bloodstream, something like contentment and embarrassment curling up inside him and making him blush.

Zayn’s panting, his eyes widened in panic but he still smiles, bringing his outstretched arms back. “Thanks mate.”

He gives him a friendly pat. Niall glances down to check his grip, to make sure he isn’t holding him too hard, and loses his breath. Because. Well, that’s his mark isn’t it, staring right back at him, all that ink converged around it, dark and as familiar to him as if he were staring at the one on his own arm. It could just be a random puzzle piece but he knows, he fucking knows, could draw that mark blindfolded.

He lets go quickly, his heart racing. His stomach is a molten weight in his chest, burning him up from the inside, but Zayn doesn't seem to notice, just smiles down at him again before turning up and continuing forward up the stairs.

 _Deep breaths, relax, disengage_ he tells himself, feeling the sharp panic of his initial emotions round out until he can focus on getting back to his apartment. He feels like he’s been punched, sharp and sudden and swaddled with gauze, every thought sluggish and rapid fire at the same time.

He steps into the hallway and gets a glimpse of the tallest one, Danny he thinks, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s forehead. It seems intimate, too intimate, and he turns away, heading in the opposite direction.

“Hey Niall, thanks for the help mate, see you around yeah?”

Niall turns around and Zayn’s smiling at him, this shy quirk of the lips like he means it. His elbow feels numb and he manages to wave back before turning away, locking his apartment door. He slumps down against, counts to a hundred, and takes deep breaths into the space between his knees.

-

Niall tries not to think about it. Knowing something and doing something about it are two different things. If anything, he thinks he should feel relief. He’s one of the lucky ones. A lot of people never meet one of their soul mates, much less get to speak to them or see them every day. It doesn't have to mean anything, he tells himself, and still loses his breath every time he catches Zayn on the stairwell, the crease of his smile, the way he laughs like he’s glad to see him.

-

It’s 2 am and Niall’s in the cramped, empty washing machine room and he thinks he should be more surprised when he sees Zayn come in, shoulders relaxed and ear buds in. 

“Hey, Zayn right?” he asks like he and Harry didn’t look up the name on facebook, twitter, instagram. He tries to pitch his voice loud enough so the other lad can hear, but not enough that he ends up scaring him. Zayn pulls his ear buds out with a jerk.

“Niall.” The name sounds soft in his mouth. “I didn’t think anybody would be down here right now. What are you doing?”

Niall pats the laundry machine. “2 am is the best time to get laundry done,” Niall replies. 

“Right,” Zayn says, smiling like he doesn’t know if Niall’s taking the piss or not.

Niall watches as Zayn starts to load one of the machines, an ugly purple knit going in, a tupac shirt, a plaid long sleeve. Zayn doesn’t look the type to be shy or nervous, but his hands fumble over the quarters and his ears are a mottled red.

Niall doesn’t mind silences but he’s also curious about Zayn, this boy who could possibly be his soul mate. The thought makes his heart clench. “So, where are you from?”

Zayn pauses, turns to stare at him. He seems measurably colder, his eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed like spikes instead of armor. “Um, here. England.”

“Right sorry I meant what city in England, didn’t know how far you had to go to come here. I should’ve been clearer about that.”

Zayn’s face clears up a little and he uncrosses his arms. “Small town called Bradford, near Yorkshire. How about you?”

“Mullingar, Ireland. A little farther away.”

Zayn turns to face him properly. It feels different, a softer, rougher Zayn than the one he sneaks peeks at while they’re checking the mail downstairs, while he’s waving hello to him in the hallway. His eyelashes cast long, inky shadows against his face, but there are also bags under his eyes, teeth imprint marks on his lip.

“Ireland? Wow, that’s far. Do you miss it?” Zayn asks.

“It comes and goes, but. Yeah, I do,” Niall admits. Zayn nods, and they share a tired smile, softened by homesickness and quiet in the only way that 2 am and flickering lights can be.

“Do you know anyone here yet or?” Niall asks.

“I’ve talked to a couple of people from class, but I’ve really only properly met you and my roommate. She’s nice enough but her girlfriend is always over and well,” Zayn shrugs. “They’re sort of in that soul mate honeymoon stage.”

“Ah they’re a little too loud then,” Niall teases.

Zayn laughs, his body bending with it. He probably shouldn’t be so pleased that he got Zayn to laugh, but he is, couldn't help it if he tried.

“Yeah… no I guess it’s more of the whole soul mate thing. I don’t really mind others, but I don’t really believe in soul mates anymore so sometimes it’s a bit awkward. But she’s really cool yeah,” Zayn says, a bit haltingly.

Niall tilts his head, trying not to betray the fact that his heart's by his feet. “Oh, you don’t?”

“Nah not really. I mean, what happens if it doesn’t work out? If the timing isn’t right or if you guys just can’t fit? Then you’re just fucked, is it.” Zayn’s voice has a brittle edge to it, though he tries to mask it by angling away and fiddling with his detergent bottle.

“Right. Yeah well I guess it isn’t meant for everyone,” he says faintly, a lump in his throat, his heart aching for this boy he doesn’t really know.

Zayn relaxes his shoulders, sends a tired smile over. “Sorry didn’t mean to get all serious on you. It’s just, yeah. Sore subject.”

Niall tries to smile back, his face feeling weird with it. Zayn changes the subject to classes afterwards, but Niall keeps swallowing, trying to clear that lump out. It sticks and stays, long after he returns to his apartment.

-

London is hectic and confusing and a lot of things Bradford isn’t. Zayn doesn’t think there’s ever truly silence, not the peaceful Sunday morning kind when his parents were just getting up and his sisters were still asleep. There’s always noise or commotion somewhere, whether from the perpetually leaky tap or the creak of the building or the sounds of the street muted through the glass. Sometimes it gets to be too much, but so far he likes London. Maybe not quite as much as Bradford and not seeing Danny or Ant every day, but he survives. Mostly he just misses his family.

Uni is like trying to find a bit of peace in the turbulence of people, constantly breathing and moving and living. He gets uneasy often, trying to find a familiar face like he would in Bradford and coming up with nothing. There’s no Danny, no family to come home to.

He tries to deal with it; he thinks to join the LGBT club on campus and leaves halfway through the meeting during the bathroom break when someone asks him “so, like, what are you?” He thinks to join the MSA and then backs out at the last second, overly self-conscious about his tattoos, his smokes, himself. He calls Danny and tells him about it, living there. He mostly just looks sad before distracting him with college horror stories, about how his baba’s doing, Ant occasionally popping in for a comment. Them, his family, his sisters, they all help, but sometimes he feels like all he did was run from one problem to another.

He meets Niall his first day moving in. He’s really the only person he’s talked to for longer than 10 seconds, and he bumps into him enough on the stairwell for him to remember him. He’s a little strange, but always laughing, and not the mocking type either that he’s used to hearing from other white people. It puts Zayn at ease. People who laugh genuinely are easily the best people to be around.

Niall’s funny and a good listener; in his quieter moments, he reminds Zayn of Danny, of the comfort that his presence brings or used to bring. Sometimes, when it gets to be too much, a little bit of quiet and home is all Zayn is looking for.

-

Niall would like to believe he’s better at self-preservation than he is. He really really isn’t.

It isn’t hard to be friends with Zayn. It isn’t easy either. Niall constantly feels on edge, for the things he says and guilty for the things he doesn’t. It’s not like he enjoys it, he thinks, coming up with a hundred scenarios where he laughs at having matching soul marks with Zayn, half of them ending up with Zayn in his arms, the other half him with a bruised heart and a cold silence.

Knowing makes it easier. At least it should, Niall thinks to himself; he knows that Zayn’s not interested, so he can move on, not have to worry about it.

Niall thinks of his mark, the shape instinctive to him now, hidden by the cross of his arms. It’s better this way. If he didn’t have to see Zayn at all, it’d be even better, but then even missing out on the glimpses of Zayn, in the hallway, at the library, feels like too much. The word _friend_ is still a bit clumsy in his mouth, but he thinks it could fit in time. Zayn seems like he could fit himself into any part of Niall’s life easily.

-

Zayn doesn’t share any classes with Niall, but he sees him often enough. Sometimes at the campus library or the cafeteria, Niall always showing up with a snapback and a grin just for Zayn. Niall is his first friend, and barring some acquaintances he’s made, pretty much his only friend, so he agrees to meet up with him on a study date of sorts.

They plan to meet at Niall’s apartment on a Friday. The apartment is a bit of a mess, cups and clothes littered randomly, but Niall’s room is surprisingly tidy, all folded bedsheets and shoes lined up in a neat little row.

“I have three other roommates, can’t get them to pick up their socks to save my life.” Niall says. He hangs up his jacket and Zayn takes the opportunity to set his stuff carefully on the floor.

“Three boys babe, god was I lucky to have sisters.” Zayn replies, smiling and shaking his head.

“I know, I know, I brought it upon myself. I’ll introduce you to them. Nobody’s in right now but hopefully later, like at dinner, where Louis isn’t likely to interrogate you or start a sock war or something.”

Zayn wonders if he should be scared. Niall shrugs but smiles, which shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is.

“They’re good lads, if a tad too … much sometimes. You’ll like them,” Niall says.

Zayn plops onto Niall’s bed, wonders half a second too late if that’s too forward and then Niall sprawls next to him, his textbooks in a heap on the ground.

Zayn cracks open his stats book, settling in with a sigh. Zayn’s good at school, had always considered it a point of pride, but he’s also always been a procrastinator too, needing that little bit of push sometimes to get work done. Niall on the other hand, seems very organized and well managed if his multiple excel spreadsheets and neat writing indicates, but seems to need to study a bit harder to get the info in. He isn’t self-conscious about admitting it, which Zayn admires.

A boy with a snapback comes in about an hour a later, singing along to his headphones. He has a rich, sweet voice, slipping into a falsetto easily as he does a shuffle side step into the doorway. The boy notices them and waves, seemingly unembarrassed as he pulls his headphones off.

“Oh Nialler, forgot you were staying home today.” He grins, takes his snapback and plops it on Niall’s head, adjusting it so it’s not too low in his eyes.

He turns to Zayn. “Hey you must be Niall’s new friend, I’m Liam.”

He’s enthusiastic and loud and he’s a white boy wearing jean shorts, but Zayn’s fried on math and has missed talking about music, waxing bullshit analysis with Danny while he’s high or just after he’s gotten an old vinyl so he lets it go, holding out his hand to shake.

“’m Zayn, was that Miguel?”

Liam’s eyes light up and he shuffles closer. “Oh yeah, I love him, he’s wicked, one of my favorite singers. Can you believe none of the other lads even heard of him before I introduced them?”

Zayn shakes his head, not really surprised, but crowds in next to Liam to look at the rest of his music on his phone. By the time Niall’s other two roommates have arrived, within minutes of each other, they’re chatting about Marvel vs. DC and the merit of legacy characters.

“Niall, Liam texted and said you brought a boy home? And to your room? Who the fuck is he?” The voice is gleeful and Niall swears, but it’s too late, a boy coming up to the door with an mischievous look in his eyes and a smirk. Surprisingly, Harry, that over friendly and deep-voiced kid from his English class is behind him, holding some kind of weird green smoothie. When his eyes land on Zayn’s, he squeezes past Louis into the room.

“Zayn, what are you doing here?” He says, sounding surprised and pleased. Zayn waves, a bit shy now that there’s so many people in the room and the attention’s focused on him. The other boy looks disgruntled and elbows Harry.

“Oof, what? He’s in my English class,” he says, rubbing at his stomach and sounding confused.

“Well seeing as you know everybody else, I’m Louis.” He says it like a declaration, like Zayn should already know who he is.

“Zayn." Louis squints at him. Zayn stares back. If he was a little bit younger, he might’ve smiled back, tried to appease Louis in some way. He knows better now. That said, he’s not trying to make enemies with Niall’s friends the first time he’s meeting them.

“So, you gonna sit down next to us and talk Iron Man or do you have someplace better to be?” Zayn asks.

Louis raises his eyebrows, his mouth pressed into a line, but then he shrugs and meets Zayn’s eyes with a challenge. He pushes Liam aside to sit down next to him and drape his legs over Zayn’s lap. He adjusts them and Liam launches into a spiel about the film adaptation, the situation thawing as soon as Louis gives the clear by reclining into the headboard. Soon Harry and Niall get involved when the topic switches to _Guardians of the Galaxy_ and they can flaunt their knowledge about 80s music over Zayn (which he just laughs and shakes his head at, being more fond of the boys than he thinks he should be), and the topic jumps to music, from favorite artist to song to album.

Zayn wonders how his life got to this point: surrounded by a bunch of overactive white boys, but it’s almost nice in a way, to be able to banter and piss about with friends without the still lingering cloud of regret and tension that follows him around back home.

-

Niall slams his laptop shut, his body jittery and leg shaking. He’s just finished with his English paper, something about comparative analysis of 20th century American literature; he’d be fucked if he hadn’t outlined the paper to hell. He’s still 90% sure he’s fucked, but at least it’s well planned out. He’s hyped up on the two red bulls and coffee he had a couple of hours ago when he gets a text from Zayn.

_can’t sleep, u awake?? Xx_

Then:

_sorry if im waking u up nvm ignore this!!_

He texts back.

_Nah just finished with my essay tho what’s up !_

He waits and his phone pings a few seconds later.

_Cant sleep wanna do something?_

Niall’s probably one espresso shot past good judgment, but he texts back a _k come meet in the hallway in 5 min !_ and goes to splash some water on his face. He’s going to pass out if he doesn’t get out of his room and get some fresh air.

He’s still pulling on his sneakers outside when Zayn taps him on the back, jolting him upwards. He’s wearing glasses and his eyes are creased up into half moons, dark and glittering and soft. It feels strangely daunting and precious to see Zayn like this, all but stripped down.

“Why is it that I always seem to meet you at strange hours of the night alone?” Zayn’s voice is filled with mirth even as he stifles a yawn, drooping even though he had said that he couldn’t sleep. Niall imagines Zayn weeks ago, closed off but not shut yet in the washing room, and Zayn now, sleep soft and malleable in the dark of the hallway.

“I don’t know, right pair of night owls we are. Don’t worry, I’ll watch over you yeah?”

-

Niall’s not sure if what they’re doing is actually wise for how late it is, but he doesn’t want to think about it so he doesn’t. He brings Zayn up to the roof of the apartment building, remembers coming up there with Harry the first week and Harry nearly toppling over the edge drunk when he hadn’t been paying attention.

“You’re not taking me up here for nefarious reasons are you?” Zayn seems more playful when they’re alone, when he’s allowed to exist in the comfort of his body on his terms.

“Nah, ‘m gonna show off all my astronomy knowledge, impress you and all that. Fucking tired of writing about symbolism and shitty metaphors.”

Zayn laughs and shoves at him. “Fuck off, some of us English majors actually like writing about symbolism and shitty metaphors.”

It turns out that it being muggy for the past month translates to a cloudy night sky, but the breeze is muffled and the air is clear up this high, quiet but not too quiet, the sounds of cars and the metro filtering up.

Zayn looks over the roof, frowns, and then settles himself staunchly next to the wall. Niall smiles; he’ll have to remember to ask Zayn about that later. He and Zayn sit near the edge of the building, their backs to the wall and heads tipped back to watch the wisps of clouds move, exposing slices of stars before obscuring them once more.

Niall feels like he’s still riding the edge of a high, shaky with it but. He feels almost ok right now. Zayn is a warm line pressed all along his side, and he feels his breaths evening out, the almost jittery anxiety threatening to shake him apart slowly seeping out with every breath. Their arms are pressed together and if he concentrates just hard enough, he can feel their soul marks overlapped through two layers of fabric, the thought pushing through before he can stop it.

The glimpses of the stars are enough; he can just parse together the patterns of the constellations, words of gods and myths stitched together up in the sky. He turns to look at Zayn, slumped shoulders and creased eyes, just a boy after all. Even with all the grandiose and mystery of it, they’re just stars. Liam would call him a pessimist, but he finds it reassuring. He wonders if he should tell Zayn, turns to look at him and can’t quite bring himself to disturb the peaceful expression on his face.

He doesn’t know how long they stay out there but it’s long enough that he almost falls asleep, lulled by Zayn’s warmth and the shallow breeze. He turns to Zayn and he has a slight smile on his face, eyes closed, throat pale and exposed. Niall shakes Zayn’s shoulder gently and he opens his eyes like he was waiting for him.

“Ready?”

Zayn nods and they both stand up, leaning on each other.

“Never told me about the star stuff,” Zayn says, turning to find him in the dark of the stairwell.

“Guess we’ll just have to save the star stuff for next time yeah? C’mon last one down pays for coffee tomorrow morning.”

-

Zayn doesn’t get lonely easily. He misses other people, but he never regrets the time he spends alone, needs it more like. Still, being raised in a house with five other people and cousins constantly visiting, growing up in the backyard of aunties’ house parties, he’s always been surrounded by family and friends. Now that he has his own space, he misses the clamor of it, but he also knows to cherish his space. He spends long hours alone catching up on his reading list or fiddling with his paints or just sleeping. Still, sometimes it’s nice to have someone nearby, even just for the occasional comment and warmth.

He knows Niall is like him in that regard; even though people are drawn to him, even though he and Harry seem to have a monopoly on social butterflies, he needs his space too. He can barely imagine what it’s like to live with three other boys. He thinks himself quite lucky to have lived with three sisters; at least they were always neat. Niall is actually a bit strange in that regard. He seems so loud around the other boys, always at their energy levels whenever Zayn is around all of them, but he can be quiet too. Zayn still remembers that night on the roof, the gentle hand on his shoulder, the tired crinkles by Niall’s eyes, but his smile nonetheless. It’s a strange feeling that bubbles up, something warm that sticks to his ribs and feels heavy every time he breathes in, but not in a bad way.

Ease maybe, he thinks, watching Niall fiddle with his guitar. He’d invited Niall over for a study date, at his place this time. By the end, though, those always devolved into lazing about watching _Cosmos_ or doing their own thing, which is how it ends up being this time.

He glances down at his sketch, absently retracing a line, giving it shadow and definition. It turns out weird, but Zayn isn’t in the mood to correct it so he goes to doodle by the end of the page. He doesn’t notice Niall’s gaze on him until a few seconds later. He feels a flush of embarrassment go through him, engrained after too many times of catching people looking at him weirdly, like he didn’t belong.

“What?” Zayn asks.

“Nothing, just trying to see what you were drawing.” Niall’s still absentmindedly playing his guitar, fingers gently plucking at the strings like second nature.

Zayn hesitates. He usually doesn’t show his art to anyone, unless it’s for a project or a show around in his illustration 101 class. He wordlessly turns his sketchpad to face Niall. Niall leans in, but doesn’t touch or grab it, which Zayn appreciates. He tries not to feel self-conscious after a few moments. It isn’t much, just a few landscape sketches, a few perspective studies, some dumb little comic about a little boy who just wanted to sing near the corner of the page.

“This is really good Zayn, wow, why haven’t you showed anyone this before?” Niall’s voice is awed, but Zayn frowns. The comment is innocent, flattering actually, but he feels bothered by it. He pulls away.

“Well, I don’t know, I just don’t want to show anyone else. I don’t need to really.”

Niall turns to face him properly. “But you’re so good Zayn, I know the boys would back me up here. It’d be amazing if everyone saw this. I mean, isn’t that why you draw? Like I play for myself obviously but also so I can be heard, so it can be shared.” Niall looks up at him with concerned eyes and it frustrates him.

“I. Look art isn’t about other people for me. I like sharing it sometimes, like with you now, but I don’t need to share it. I-” he stops, flustered. How’s he supposed to explain it? “Art’s for me.” It sounds dumb to him and he flips the sketch book closed. His ears are burning; he feels like he’s accidently ripped back a layer of a book, showed something that wasn’t polished or beautiful for once.

Niall stays silent long enough that Zayn feels the first inklings of regret. Maybe he should’ve just agreed instead of scaring off one of the few friends he’s made.

“Ok. I don’t feel the same way, but that’s ok, I don’t need to. I'm sorry I pushed. But seriously, your art is really good Zayn. If you ever want a second pair of eyes, excepting all your fancy art friends, I’m open to it, if you want.”

Zayn smiles, surprised, but a good kind of surprised.

Secure, he thinks later. Niall makes him feel secure, like the first strains of a childhood song, familiar and comforting and warm.

-

Niall likes routine. Not necessarily doing the same things every day, but knowing that everything has a place; he has a place. He’s the one who goes to buy toiletries at the student market every Thursday, goes up to the observation tower on the weekends for astronomy club, visits the libraries on Tuesdays to study because that’s when it’s the least crowded.

He breaks it on Thursday, having to dash to the library to pick up a book he needed two weeks ago for his soc 101 class. He walks in, his jacket wet from the light drizzle that the weather has calmed down into.

Thankfully it only takes him 10 minutes and the help of the librarian to locate it, having to ask her to grab the book for him because he’s too short. He’s checked and ready to go a couple minutes later. It could’ve gone worse. He could’ve brought Harry and spent the next hour listening to him wax poetic about Bukowksi, the pretentious twat.

He goes to look at the comic section, remembering Zayn’s comments about some _Incredible Hulk_ issue and finds him hidden between the shelves, folded up with his nose buried in some art book. He has on a black jumper and an unwittingly huge scarf, poofing up around his face. It makes him look absolutely ridiculous and Niall can’t help but feel charmed. Zayn is all smirks and stoic eyes until he’s snorting with laughter from one of Louis’ jokes or showing up to a club in pineapple pants.

Niall doesn’t want to bother him, feels a weird sense of unease at bothering Zayn and seeing his annoyance or worse, his apathy, but it’s too late, Zayn looking up when Niall accidentally bumps into the shelf.

Zayn unplugs his earphones, looking surprised but not unhappy. “Hey babe, what are you doing here?”

Niall laughs a little uneasily, feeling at once both relieved and strangely nervous. “Just picking up a book for class. I kept forgetting about it and now I’m in a bit of trouble. But ah,” he waves the book in his hand, “got it now so.”

Zayn nods, his eyes scrunching as he smiles. Niall looks around, fiddles with the book.

“I gotta go, have to go talk to my prof but I’ll see you later yeah?” He says and turns around.

“Wait, Niall.” Zayn says. “It’s drizzling out still yeah?”

“Yeah it is.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, and gets to his feet.

“It’s freezing out there you damn frat boy,” he says, unraveling his scarf and looping it around Niall’s neck. He pats it into place gently. Niall’s neck tingles from the proximity of Zayn’s hands, Zayn’s sleep soft eyes, Zayn’s everything.

“There, gotta preserve the sanctity of your nipples somehow,” Zayn says. Niall’s startled into a laugh, and something eases in his chest.

“Yeah somehow a scarf will do that.”

Zayn smiles like he’s laughing at the both of them and smushes the sides of the scarf to Niall’s face. Niall gets a whiff of clean cologne, jasmine, and aerosol paint. Zayn tucks in the loose end of the scarf and steps back.

“There, you’re perfect,” he says, smiling before touching Niall’s cheek briefly and drawing back. He settles back on the floor and gives a little wave, plugging in his earphones and picking up his book again. Niall waits there for a moment and then turns away, his elbow burning, hiding his smile behind Zayn’s scarf.

-

“Sorry about this,” Niall says to a slouched Zayn next to him, watching Harry and Liam dance in the kitchen while making martinis.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. S’ fun, reminds me of back home, all the noise you know?”

His eyes are bright and he seems alright for now, though Niall knows he doesn’t like being around too much commotion and people for long periods of time, remembers how Zayn had skipped out on their last pub crawl because he hadn’t been feeling up to it.

Louis’s already given up setting up the dvds for the _Harry Potter_ marathon they’d planned. He’s texting Eleanor, a pleased smile on his face that he usually tries to hide. Louis runs a hand over the rope around his wrist, his mark that Eleanor doesn’t have.

“Here draw a lightning bolt on me,” Niall says.

Zayn grins, sharp and playful, snatching up a pen. “Yeah alright.”

Niall angles his face up, fluttering his eyelashes like a 1950s starlet. From this close, Niall can feel the puff of laughter from Zayn, the way his eyebrows crease slightly in concentration. He holds his breath, feeling strangely winded as Zayn angles his face, fingers gentle where they cradle his cheek. The pen digs into his skin a bit and he winces. Zayn mirrors the expression, his hand dropping to his arm and squeezing it in comfort. It almost panics him, the way Zayn is inches away from his mark and he sits up a bit, forcing Zayn back a precious few inches.

Harry chooses to come back into the living room now, carrying a tray of violently blue martinis and placing it on the floor. Niall eyes it and can already imagine a hundred ways it’s going to go wrong.

“Heyyy, why does Niall get a lightning bolt? I’m actually Harry, I should get a Zayn and a lightning bolt,” Harry says.

Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry’s pout, but pulls Harry down next to them. He goes to draw one on him too, adding a little stylized _zap_ on his forehead that he and Louis laugh and high five over. Harry seems pleased enough though and grabs his phone to take a selfie of their matching marks.

Eventually Liam comes back with popcorn and the rest of the martinis and they start. It’s almost bordering on too hectic, the conversations jumping from their patronus (“Lion for you definitely Payno” “Harry you’d probably be a frog or summat” “Alright you’d be a mouse then Louis” “Hm alright fuck off” “Bunny for you, absolutely” Zayn whispers to him with a grin on his face) to their houses (“Gryffindor called it” “I’d reckon I’d be in Slytherin right lads?” “Zayn’s definitely Ravenclaw” “Niall, I reckon you could be in any” “Harry you can be the big squid”) to dorms (“Absolutely dorm there. Listen, you could chill with friends any time, free delicious food, Zayn back me up here” “Ok but no home-cooked meals and shared bathrooms? I don’t know Louis”)

“How about you?” Zayn asks, his voice lost to the rest of the lads bickering, but close enough to be caught by Niall.

“I could probably get on ok by myself but I’d miss my parents and friends a lot, think I could do it though. You?”

“Living there? Nah couldn’t, would miss my fam too much.” Zayn’s voice is a low undercurrent to the tide of the rest of the boys’ voices, excited over Harry and Ron flying into a tree.

“Like, I already miss them now and it’s only been a month or so. Think the last time I saw everyone was Eid and that was right before I moved here.” He looks distant, eyes sad and nostalgic and a million other things Niall can’t feel, but hurts for all the same. Niall presses into his side slightly, hoping to comfort him. Seeing Zayn sad has so far been a rare occurrence and he’s hoping to keep it that way. Zayn blinks slowly and then smiles, “No snapchat or skype at Hogwarts eh?”

Niall snorts, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. He thinks he hear’s Zayn’s breath catch, but he’s distracted from the thought by Harry’s surprised shout when he knocks over the martinis.

-

Zayn knows they all planned to meet up at the campus café for a late lunch, only it’s already 2:20 and he was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. He’s still a little groggy, fresh out of a post-calc class nap. He thinks about returning to his covers, thinks about what Louis would do to him if he missed it, and rolls out of bed.

By the time he arrives, it’s nearing 2:40. Harry gives him an unimpressed look over his phone. Zayn squeezes into the lemon yellow booth with a slump.

“Liam and Louis are running a bit late, they’ll be here in like 5 minutes,” Niall informs them, trying to look at Harry’s phone. He looks cozy, wearing some white wool sweater with grey sleeves. It almost looks like one of Zayn’s particularly soft sweaters and he thinks longingly of his bed. Zayn thumps his head onto the counter.

“You guys suck,” he tells Liam and Louis when they finally show up, looking windswept and slightly damp from the weather.

He gets up because he knows Liam likes the inner spot and then swears internally when he realizes he’s going to be trapped between them. Louis flicks his head and then slumps down next to him, leaving Harry and Niall across from them.

“What’s this slander?” Louis goes for his stomach and Zayn deflects him into Liam, who groans and then tries to tackle Louis with Zayn in between them. They knock over the salt shaker and somehow Louis gets Liam into a headlock with Zayn’s arms entangled in it. He hasn’t really ever had a chance to be rowdy with a bunch of lads and it’s fun, even jostled between them.

He’s so distracted serving as a shield for both of them that he almost doesn’t notice Harry and Niall bent towards each other, catching the end snippet of “-leave it Harry.” Harry has his hand on Niall’s arm, fingers smoothing over the fabric. Niall looks a mixture of annoyed and resigned, and Harry looks an unreadable sort of concerned.

He feels a weird jolt in his stomach, like he’s missing something. It’s strange and he frowns to himself; who cares if Niall and Harry have a thing to themselves, they were friends first, it’s not like it’s any of Zayn’s business. It bothers him until the waitress arrives several minutes later, frazzled and apologizing for the wait.

-

Niall sighs, kicking at a puddle. It’s been storming for a week straight now, and everybody’s been getting steadily crankier and more tired. Last time he saw him, Harry had been wearing a huge overcoat with a fuzzy hood, his usually rare grump face out and about.

He’s just finished his morning class, the only one of his day thankfully. He’s fully prepared to go home, warm up a pair of socks in the dryer, and spend the entire day wrapped in blankets and catching up on _Game of Thrones_ when he spots Zayn just up ahead the pathway.

He’s in a thin hoodie, rubbing his eyes. His hair is plastered to his forehead and water drips from the bridge of his nose, but he still looks about 5 minutes away from falling asleep right then and there. Niall shakes his head.

“Hey what are you doing?” He calls out.

Zayn blinks, as if startled, and then squints. He breaks out into a smile when he recognizes him.

“Hey. Shift got changed at the library, have to wake up at this godforsaken hour.”

“Zayn it’s 11 am.”

“Yeah exactly.” Zayn yawns and swipes his hair back casually, like he’s not drenched and sleepy and cold. Niall angles the umbrella a bit taller and forward, so Zayn’s covered too.

They’re right in front of each other now, Niall’s umbrella blocking out the rain for both of them. The rain’s been reduced to a slightly quieter roar, and Niall blinks, feeling like he’s moving through thick honey. He can see the fan of Zayn’s eyelashes, clumped and inky from the rain, the slight bags under his eyes.

Zayn smiles, his eyes crinkling tiredly.

“I’ll see you in a few hours yeah? Call me if you and the boys plan to do anything for dinner.” Zayn makes to walk past him and Niall frowns, catching Zayn’s hand.

“Wait, you’re not going back out there without an umbrella, it’s pouring and the library’s still like, 15 minutes away at least.”

“It’s fine Niall, I have a hoodie.” He gestures to the sad, soggy thing piled up behind his head.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Here I’ve been meaning to go to the library to pick something up, I’ll just walk you there.”

Zayn looks like he wants to put up more of a protest, his eyebrows furrowing, but Niall just pulls him forward, going back the way he came. Niall holds onto his hand for a heavy moment, his hand curling around Zayn’s before letting go, tucking his hand back into his pockets.

Niall ends up staying the 4 hours of Zayn’s shift, following Zayn around as he shows Niall how he organizes and restocks the books. He keeps him company by the cashier and browses through the CD section for a while. It’s nearing 3 by the time Zayn’s shift ends.

Niall opens his umbrella, the rain still coming down steadily. Zayn bats his eyelashes at him, slings an arm around his shoulders.

“My hero.”

“Shut it Malik.”

Niall escorts Zayn to his door, but Zayn invites him in. “Tea?” He asks, Niall taking off his shoes by the door.

“Yeah, cheers.”

The apartment is empty when he enters, only Zayn and his shoes by the door. He waits in the kitchen, props himself up on the counter with only minimal wincing from his knee. It aches when it gets particularly cold, but he’s learned to ignore it for the most part, has to otherwise he wouldn’t function in this weather. It’s peaceful, watching Zayn methodically putting on the kettle, grabbing two different mugs out of the pantry, grabbing the milk and sugar.

Zayn holds up each when the tea’s done, raising an eyebrow.

“Sugar, 3 spoons at least,” Niall says, making grabby hands at it.

“Gross.” Zayn crinkles his nose, but laughs and does it anyways. Niall grabs the cup carefully, drawing his sleeves up over his fingers.

They exit the kitchen and go to the cramped living room. The couch is ratty, but it sinks in all the right places and Niall sighs in relief when he settles into it. Within minutes, Zayn is asleep, head propped up on one of the arm rests. Niall gets a blanket, tucks him up securely. He quietly dumps out Zayn’s untouched tea and washes the cup, putting it in the dishwasher. He wanders around aimlessly, making sure to avoid Zayn’s room, before settling back down in front of the couch, flipping through channels at random.

He glances over at Zayn, notices how his body curls inwards, how his fringe lays flat and soft against his forehead. His hands feel too jittery; he wants to hide them some how, bury them in his hoodie or in the soft down of Zayn's hair. Zayn looks unbearably tender like this, so unbearably real, wrapped up like a gift only Niall can see. Like something maybe he can have. He reaches out, to feel the stubble of his cheek, to brush away the bit of hair falling into his eyes, but then Zayn makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, his face turning away, and the moment's gone. He shoves his hands under his knees and focuses on the TV, makes sure he doesn't look at Zayn. 

By the time Zayn wakes up, about 50 minutes later, Niall’s halfway through a particularly intense episode of _Chopped_. He’s silently rooting for Mohawk guy who’s slicing carrots at top speed when Zayn wakes up with a sleepy sound, his hair pushed up on one side.

“Niall, you’re still here. You didn’t leave,” Zayn says, sounding a bit disoriented. He yawns and sits up. He takes a sip of Niall’s tea and then grimaces, putting it back down.

“Yeah course.” Niall takes a sip of his own tea and sticks his tongue out. He fights the urge to smooth Zayn's hair back, tuck it behind his ear. “Couldn’t leave you here, stranded, helpless and unarmed. Defenseless against burglars.”

Zayn laughs and gets up, stretching. “Alright calm down blondie.”

"Blondie?" Niall asks, grinning at him. "Yup," Zayn says. "Now hush I wanna see who's gonna win this thing."

-

“Hey is it almost 8?” Zayn hums in reply, still flipping through the last issue of the _Young Avengers_. A few more minutes and he’s done; the boys would probably be ok if he came a little later right?

“Cause, y’know we’re supposed to meet the boys at Liam’s at 10.” Niall hints, walking out of his room. He's adjusting his watch, some black Casio calculator kind that he likes to use every time they go out to figure out precise change and tip.

Zayn nods, sighing internally but getting up. “Right, right.”

He sees Niall and nearly falls down trying to tie his combat boots laughing at Niall’s tank. Zayn wonders how someone can wear so many tanks in such cold weather.

“We’re going to a club Nialler, not a damn kegger,” he teases, poking at his chest. Niall pushes at him, laughing, but grabs his arm when Zayn nearly topples over.

“I suppose we can’t all be as brooding as you Mr. leather jacket and smokes.”

“Fuck off” he says, but still grabs onto Niall’s thighs when he jumps onto his back, piggy backing him out the door.

-

For some reason, Niall expects Zayn to be as smooth drunk as he is sober, all half lidded eyes and snaky hips, but so far, all he’s done is jump around with Liam and then pelvic thrust with Harry in some weird dance routine that leads him to believe they’ve practiced it before. There’s a lot of giggling.

The night passes in a whirlwind. Most of it for him is spent in the booth with Louis; he likes dancing, but not when there’s the constant crush of bodies and the looming feeling of uneasiness that comes with it. Liam spends almost all of the night on the dance floor or by the bar, at some point appearing behind it and serving drinks.

Niall doesn’t know how, but he wouldn’t put it past him.

Harry flits between people like a hummingbird, but stops back at their booth every hour or so, cuddling Zayn or stealing Niall’s drink. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, the star on his arm bold and already having been the source of admiring eyes and flirty hands. Harry, cards on the table but heart tucked close where it counts, if nothing else, can play an audience.

Zayn flips back and forth, spending half of his time dancing with Liam and half laughing with Louis at shit on his phone.

At one point, he sees some guy crowded up against Zayn, whispering something into his ear. He blinks and they’re gone, lost to the crowd; it’s a uncomfortable feeling that blooms through him, uneasy and annoying. A few minutes later, Zayn’s come back to the booth, holding a rum and coke and grinning at Niall. He feels himself calming and doesn’t think of it.

They leave earlier than they usually do, close to 2:00. Right before they leave, Zayn slurs “contacts, contacts!” which somehow translates to Louis being in charge of Liam and Harry, and Niall having to drag Zayn to his apartment. There’s a confusing moment where all the boys try to get into the same cab and they almost succeed before Harry topples out, pulling Liam who pulls Louis with him.

They decide to get into separate cars after that. Louis is surprisingly the least drunk of the three of them, seeing the way the two other boys cling to Louis and sandwich him in a stumbling, karaoke, tripping hazard.

He’s pretty sure he drank more than Zayn but Zayn seems drunker, getting steadily quieter and clumsier, tucking himself into Niall’s neck. Their apartments are close by and he manages to stumble his way up 4 levels, not without nearly passing out having to heft half of Zayn’s weight. He thinks he’d be more bothered if he wasn’t this right edge of drunk, just a low warm buzz under his skin and a kind of contentedness only a few beers and your best mates can give you.

Niall has to search Zayn’s pockets for the key. It’s surprisingly hard when they’re literally glued to his hips; he’d make a joke about Zayn taking after Harry but he doesn’t think he’d even notice, given his state.

They stumble together in the darkness, Niall not knowing where the switches are and pressing randomly at the walls. Zayn breaks off at some point, mumbling and pointing towards one of the doors, which he guesses is his room.

A minute later, the bright flash of the bathroom light cuts through and makes him groan. It’s cut off when Zayn closes the door and Niall stumbles his way to Zayn’s room. Niall’s too tired to care about stripping his clothes and he manages to get his socks and trousers off before collapsing in Zayn’s bed.

-

Niall wakes up slowly. He drifts on the edge of unconsciousness for what feels like hours, too warm and too comfortable to get up. Consciousness hits him in bits and pieces: legs entangled with his, one numb arm, the other slung lowly around a slim waist, the soft give of a belly, tufts of hair tickling his forehead. He wakes up to the back of Zayn’s neck, his body tucked along the curl of Zayn’s spine. He raises himself slowly, half from the pounding of his head and half to not jostle Zayn awake.

Zayn’s room is messier than he expected, but in true Zayn fashion, ends up looking artsy instead of trashy like the room of a college freshman. There are posters everywhere, from Frank Ocean to _The Godfather_ to _Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham._ There’s one corner of the room that’s cleared away, with what looks like a rolled prayer mat neatly set aside there. It feels intimate, a safe space only for Zayn and even through the pounding of his head, he feels touched to be allowed in, if only for a brief glimpse of it.

He stumbles around trying to find the bathroom for a piss before slumping in. He takes shop: head’s pounding but not quite so bad, arms sore from holding Zayn last night, mouth that tastes like ass. He doesn’t want to use Zayn’s toothbrush so he very quietly tries to rummage through the bathroom drawers. He finds rubber bands, two types of razors, a bunch of hairpins, and finally, a new kid’s Crayola toothbrush. He fist pumps weakly.

He’s almost done brushing his teeth when Zayn stumbles in, hair flattened to his face on one side, pillow imprint on his left cheek. Niall wants to trace it, feel the soft fullness of his cheek. Sleep delirium he thinks.

“Hey sorry, I opened up a new toothbrush package, didn’t think you’d appreciate me using yours.” He holds up his toothbrush, syllables squashed because he’s speaking with a mouth full of foam. Zayn squints at Niall for a few seconds, and then wanders off before coming back with a towel that he throws at Niall’s face. He makes a vague gesture towards the shower and wanders away.

“Uhh I’m gonna take that as permission to shower ok?”

Zayn grunts from the other room.

“Ok cool.”

The water is blessedly hot and he stands under it for a long moment, reveling in the relief it brings to his muscles. At one point he knows Zayn comes in because the tap runs and the sound of teeth brushing can be heard. He feels his ears flush embarrassingly and is glad for the curtain. He isn’t shy about his body, but morning wood and a sleepy, half naked Zayn probably don’t bode well. He focuses on rinsing the suds out of his hair instead.

He finally gets out when he realizes that he must be using up all their hot water, checking first to see if Zayn’s gone and then quickly wrapping a towel around himself. His eyes track the sink, the flecks of water, the mangled toothpaste, Zayn’s contact case. His eyes catch on the two toothbrushes, Zayn’s still wet, and he smiles.

He grabs a pair of slippers he sees by the door because the floor is cold and he doesn’t have any socks on. He should probably cook Zayn breakfast or something, as thanks. He sets up the kettle, from where he saw Zayn grab it from, checks the fridge and then the pantry when he realizes that they literally only have one egg and one piece of bread.

He fries up the egg and pops the bread in the toaster. Memories of last night are slowly filtering in: Harry grinning with a cosmo in his hand, Liam trying to convince him to dance, snorting at one of Louis’ jokes, turning someone’s offer down in the bathroom, Zayn telling him that he smelled like clean air and guinness, Zayn laughing into his neck, Zayn’s hand warm and calloused in his own as he dragged him to the taxi.

His heart grows in his chest, constricting like someone’s squeezing it too hard. It’d been nice, carefree in a way he postures all the time but only sometimes is. He grabs the same two mugs he and Zayn had used last time he’d been there.

He’s pouring milk into the cereal when Zayn walks in, rubbing at his eyes. Niall goes into the kitchen and grabs the tea before placing it on the table. Zayn yawns and props his face up on his knees. He looks very sleepy and there’s an errant little curl that Niall reaches out and tugs on.

“’s a mess.” Zayn says, rubbing at his hair automatically.

“Nah, it's cute.” Niall says, tugging on it again. Zayn rolls his eyes, gestures at Niall’s bunny slippers with a smile.

“Don’t think you should be talking mate.”

Niall brings the utensils over, setting them down.

“Yeah I know, I’m an expert on these things, gotta listen to me.”

They end up sharing the eggs and toast, and the cereal, alternating between spoons and forks. It’s quiet except for the occasional scrape of a fork, or drip of milk on the table.

“Where’s your roommate by the way? I’m assuming these are her’s,” Niall asks, finishing the last of the cereal.

Zayn swallows his bite and then shrugs. “She spends a lot of her weekends at her girlfriend’s place so I get the place to myself most of the time then.”

They do the dishes together, Niall washing and Zayn putting them in the dishwasher slowly, too preoccupied with trying to splash water into Niall’s face. He laughs and tries to get a sudsy hand in Zayn’s hair. He wouldn’t mind this, waking up every morning to two wet toothbrushes, the smell of egg and toast, to this soft boy on a shitty mattress and a laugh like Niall’s coming home.

Oh, he thinks. Something feels like it’s clicking into place, a perfect fit. _Oh_.

-

Finals are coming up and Zayn’s never been more stressed. He’s been relying on two coffees every morning to wake up so he can actually get some early studying done instead of sleeping his way through morning classes and studying the book later. He only sees the boys for the occasional lunch or dinner. He hardly sees Niall at all. Niall is distant – not for any particularly reason; he’s just always busy, studying or just coming out of a class or meeting up with another friend or apparently at his new job in student counseling, which he had to hear from Louis of all people.

It’s a weird feeling, something like homesickness except not for Bradford or his family.

Thankfully finals pass in a blur, one test after the other. He allows himself to relax finally, feeling pretty pleased about it all things considered. He goes back home for winter break, and hearing his sister’s voices in person, folding himself in his mum’s embrace after three months, nearly makes him cry.

He doesn’t hear from Niall all winter break.

-

A few days after he comes back, Harry texts him.

_Niall’s at the apartment, if you wanna talk to him._

Zayn frowns, but heads down the hallway anyways. The door is unlocked, which isn’t actually all that unusual even though he knows Niall berates the others about it all the time. Niall’s door is ajar and Zayn taps on it gently before pushing it open.

Niall’s still got on his uniform and name tag, a navy blue shirt with the school’s name on the pocket. He turns to look at Zayn, something like resignation in his smile.

“Hey, can I come in?” Zayn asks.

Niall pulls the door open and Zayn settles on the bed, feeling awkward. The blue of the shirt makes Niall’s eyes bright and unreadable.

“You ok?” He’s not usually so direct but dancing around Niall for nearly a month now makes him feel antsy, anxious. Niall doesn’t look at him for a moment. He turns around and pulls off the shirt to reveal a tank, one he’s worn before. It sets him at ease, seeing something so familiar again after so long apart.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been dealing with some things the last few weeks. Missing home.” His smile lilts up even as his voice is wry, like he’s laughing at some inside joke.

“But, just visited so. Was nice hearing from my da and Bressie and everyone again.” He sounds genuine, even though something’s off so Zayn lets it go, knows better than most that being left alone to deal with your own feelings is better sometimes.

He nods and pulls Niall into a hug, using the one inch he has on him to put his head on Niall’s. He pulls back and pokes at his exposed nipples, and then his bellybutton, as an afterthought.

-

Niall loves the greenhouse. Everything about it, from the chipped clay pots warmed by the sun to the hanging verbena flowers calms him, reminds him of the smell of freshly cut grass at home, the memory of his dad working in the garden with a pair of gloves and his mum’s floppy sun hat on.

It reminds him of Zayn too, his spindly eyelashes and careful hands fitting somewhere between the flower buds and glass windows.

He knows Zayn’s been missing home again, would know it even if he didn’t tell him he thinks, feels it radiating from him like a dull ache that grows each day, swallowing him bit by bit every time he misses a call because he’s in class or watches his sisters talk over skype with sad eyes.

If Niall can’t do anything for him, at least he can give him this: quiet and warm, crumbling earth beneath his hands. An apology, for more than one thing.

He texts Zayn to meet him there. It’s late afternoon, the sun’s rays just filtering over the top of the sunflower heads and setting them aglow. Zayn pushes open the door of the greenhouse, his movements strangely slow and reverent.

“Wow, I didn’t even realize we had a greenhouse.”

Niall grins at him, shoves his suddenly clammy hands in his hoodie. “Yeah, only the gardening club students and the botany majors use it, really. It’s usually empty on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Zayn nods, his eyes roaming and catching on the fiery orange of the marigolds, the willowy tulips.

“It’s beautiful Niall.” He smiles at him, but looks down when Niall grabs his hand, his fingers automatically intertwining with his. Niall swallows, hides the fluttering pulse of his heart underneath a smile and a tug of his hand.

“C’mon I’ll give you the tour. Since I’m the expert, googled it and everything.”

The greenhouse isn’t all that wide but it’s long, with shelves and tables bolted into the walls and ground, hanging plants and vines spilling from the ceiling.

“See here, these are daffodils. They symbolize new beginnings. And these here are chrysanthemums. They symbolize all sorts of things, sometimes optimism, sometimes joy. These are carnations. I think red carnations symbolize admiration, first love.”

He glances over at Zayn at the last part, but he’s just nodding, his face lovely and open and concentrated. They still haven’t let go.

“But pretty much all red flowers symbolize love I think.” He laughs and continues, pulling Zayn along. “I think those are forget-me-nots, run of the mill roses, and these are –“

“Jasmine flowers” Zayn’s voice interrupts. He’s grinning.

“Sorry,” Zayn apologizes a second later, smiling a bit sheepishly.

“It’s just that my mum used to keep a little bowl out in the middle of the table with them, she’d replace it like once a week.” Zayn inhales, smiling.

“I’ve always loved the smell of them. Smells sweet, like my sisters, like home.” He looks a little embarrassed but shrugs, as if he doesn’t care. Niall picks a flower out from the pot and blows on it gently to dislodge the dirt. He tucks it behind Zayn’s ear carefully.

“There.” He grins. “now you’ve got a little piece of home with you. Now c’mon, I haven’t even showed you the massive sunflowers yet.”

-

It’s unsettling how little changes for him. Niall had expected something dramatic, like all of a sudden Zayn’s sulky moods in the morning would become romantically endearing or Zayn would finally know, showing up in the middle of the night in some grand gesture. But so far, Zayn’s still Zayn, sleeping in until noon and oblivious, pretty smile and all.

-

Zayn’s sitting on the couch arm, all the boys stuffed together on one couch, when he wonders what it’d be like to kiss Niall. Some cheesy soul mark rom com is playing on TV and Niall seems unreadable in the darkness. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it; Niall is disarmingly honest and funny and safe to him, a home away from home. It would probably be easy even, he thinks, if it wasn’t for his mark, this stupid mark that leaves him feeling guilty everytime he thinks of his best friend, that makes him want to avoid the greedy eyes that run over it, never seeing him.

In all the time they’ve known each other, Zayn has never seen Niall’s soul mark. He doesn’t mind, prefers it even because it allows him his own silence, and now, so he doesn’t have to think about Niall’s soul mate out there, how it’s probably not him. It’s almost freeing that way. He thinks of Danny, who he loves fiercely but not enough, burning like a shooting star and settling as Sirius. He thinks of Niall, who’s not some destined constellation or star in the sky but burns just as brightly as one, who he thinks he could grow to love. One doesn’t cancel out the other he thinks, he can love them both.

-

Zayn’s in the kitchen, stealing some of Niall’s crisps, phone blasting _the 1975_ album that Harry sneaked in there. The rest of the boys are in classes so Niall leaves the door open when he changes into his work uniform. He can hear Zayn humming along and he grins, reminding himself to tell Harry about it later.

Three things happen in succession: he strips off his henley, pulls on his work shirt, and Zayn walks in. He makes a strangled noise in his throat and Niall doesn’t know why until Zayn catches Niall’s hand and pulls his arm out, Niall only realizing a second too late what he’s about to do. His other hand settles on the crease of his elbow, thumb swiping over the dark puzzle piece.

“What is this?” Zayn asks, voice wavering. Niall panics, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now. He forgot, all this time and he forgot. He jerks his hand away and Zayn lets him, staring at him.

“Niall,” he says when Niall doesn’t say anything. It’s hurt and angry and confused and Niall doesn’t even have to say anything, just locks eyes with Zayn and he knows. Zayn knows.

“Zayn, I.” he says, heart choking him in his throat, muscles frozen as Zayn pulls away, shoulders hunching over as he stares at Niall, big hurt eyes that Niall can’t look away from. It isn’t until he’s grabbing his stuff and turning away that Niall jumps up, everything coming back double quick as the reality of Zayn walking away hits him.

Niall grabs his arm and Zayn’s the one to jerk away this time. Niall immediately brings his hands up, but circles around so he’s between Zayn and the door. He can’t let Zayn leave, it’s the only thought he can register at the moment; he needs time, words, something to explain.

Zayn’s hands are clenched and he doesn’t even look at Niall and that’s probably the worst part of it all.

“Zayn. Zayn, god I’m sorry.” He swallows. “I - I should’ve told you before this, I just didn’t know how, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” he says, trying to keep the imploring note out of his voice and hitting desperate instead.

“I don’t know, trust me?" Zayn looks cornered, but his voice is also heated and his hands have unclenched and he's boring into Niall, looking more mad and Niall can work with that, he’d rather have that than apathy.

“I didn’t think it would matter if I didn’t tell you, it’s not like it would’ve mattered. I don’t know what happened with you in the past and I don’t need to, that’s your history, but you wouldn't have talked to me again if I showed you. I didn’t want to lose you,” Niall says. His voice nearly breaks, but he pushes it down, past the hysteria, so he can focus on Zayn. He can't lose him.

“So what, were you ever gonna tell me or was this all for fun? To get into my pants or for some sick game?” Zayn’s mouth is in a set line, his eyes steely; he’s never been so closed off, so far from him.

“No, Zayn. God no.” Niall says. He feels sick. There’s a rising sense of hysteria in him, like he’s watching his life fall apart in front of him and all he can do is laugh and watch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zayn asks.

“I told you, because I didn’t want to lose you. It’s not like it would’ve mattered. Maybe that’s a shitty reason but that’s it, that’s all it ever was,” Niall nearly whispers.

“You didn’t want to lose me or the thought of your soul mate? Because we’re not the same person here,” Zayn says, quiet and full of something angry and hurt.

“Look I don’t give a shit about the soul mark or soul mates ok?” Niall says, barely keeping his voice from shaking. “Maybe I did at first, you’re right and it was shitty of me not to tell you, but not anymore. I’m sorry for not telling you. But I didn’t choose to stay friends with you to get into your pants or anything, Zayn. It’s because I like you.” He stops, takes a deep breath and lets all of the longing and unnamed emotion and panic bleed into his next sentence. “It’s because I love you.”

Zayn’s face is twisted up, like he wants to both scream and cry. “Soul mates don’t work out Niall, they don’t last.”

“Nothing lasts forever Zayn,” Niall says, shaking his head. “I can’t give you forever, nobody can. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that.”

“How can I trust you if I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking?” Zayn snaps. He looks mad again, his arms crossed and shoulders back. “Do you really want me or do you want the soul mate you were promised, and are you gonna run away when it gets fucking tough?”

Niall fists a hand in his own hair, nearly crying from the frustration and panic. He thinks of Zayn, the first time he saw him, dark sweeping eyelashes and smile lines that dimpled into his cheeks and perfect, warm laughter; he thinks of Zayn now, angry and hurt, arms crossed, who deflects for self preservation, who hates mornings and never says what he's thinking and isn’t perfect, not by a long shot.

“You. I want you. I choose you, soul mark or not,” Niall says. It’s the most honest he’s been all night.

Zayn shakes his head, his mouth a trembling line.

“I can’t deal with this right now. I - I need time,” Zayn says, voice flat and detached even as his hands shake. Niall nods and moves aside, even as his mind screams at him to hold Zayn, to not let him go because it might be the last time he’s going to see him.

“Ok.” Niall says. He wants to apologize, to cry, to protect both Zayn and himself, but all he can do is wait.

-

Niall calls in sick, and only manages not to lose his job once he promises to work an extra shift on the weekend.

He cleans the entire flat, pulls out the same yellow rubber gloves his mum has, scrubs the bathroom floor until his hands are rubbed raw even through the gloves. At least he has control over something, can make something work out in his life, even if it’s not the one he cares about.

He sits in the bathtub, surrounded by bleach fumes with a face mask and burning eyes, and tries not to cry. Harry finds him like that and gently pulls the bleach away, leads him back into the living room. He doesn’t say anything, only turns on the TV and goes into the kitchen to fix him a cuppa so Niall can wipe his tears alone, so he can fix himself back up in peace.

Harry comes back a few minutes later with a mug and their jar of sugar. He turns on their shitty air conditioner and pulls his old rose blanket that he brought from home over the two of them. It smells overwhelmingly like Harry, like apples and sun and vanilla lotion.

Niall sighs and catalogs the room, picking it apart a million different ways on how to fix it, how to make it good again. 

-

It’s 2 weeks of hanging out with the boys in shifts, feeling a gaping hole where Zayn isn’t, guilty glances at him that he’s quickly getting sick of when Zayn texts him.

It’s an address and a time and not quite an answer, but it’s something.

He shows up at some old, boxy gym tucked between a corporation building and an abandoned store, the red brick all but faded away. It looks closed but the door opens when he pushes at it; he walks into a room with gym equipment and a boxing ring pushed into the corner. Zayn’s standing in it, arms crossed and shoulders tapering cleanly underneath his shirt. He nods at Niall when he sees him, gestures at him to come up.

“Liam comes here every Saturday to train and he convinced the owners to close it later today,” Zayn says to Niall’s silence, fiddling with bandages. He has a bruise on his arm and it’s such an alien feeling, not knowing how or why he has it. Niall keeps his distance, but tracks Zayn’s movements hungrily because he didn’t even know how much he missed him until he saw him again. He looks so familiar, like a song he's played a million times, like a well worn memory.

“I used to box you know? For both self defense and releasing aggression and all that. It always used to calm me, give me something to focus on, the routine of it.” Zayn doesn’t look at him, carefully bandaging up his hand, wrapping it methodically in tight circles. It looks like a familiar action, and Niall gets a flash of a younger Zayn clumsily winding bandages around his hand, determined and slow.

“Danny was the one who taught me, and after he left I didn’t really keep up with it anymore.” Zayn says. “Danny’s my soul mate, or I guess we have matching soul marks. It didn’t work out.” He doesn’t need to elaborate more.

Niall holds his breath. Zayn tapes the bandages down and he wonders for a brief moment if Zayn’s going to punch him before he sighs and finally looks at Niall.

“I still love him Niall, but I’m not in love with him anymore. It almost killed me leaving him, and I don’t want to have to go through that again. I’m not going to go through that again.” Zayn says firmly. He stops, straightens up his back into a strong line. Niall feels like he’s about to burst, like the edge that he’s been standing on for the past few months, weeks, days, is crumbling and it’s up to him to decide if he’s going to fall or fly.

“I can’t promise to give myself all to you, I can’t. But I’m choosing to try. To trust you.” Zayn’s staring at him, hands and pulse trembling, and Niall is in awe of this boy.

Sometimes Niall sees Zayn and wants to protect him, the vulnerable wrists and shy voice, but sometimes Niall sees the broad shoulders and defiant eyes and knows Zayn is as sturdy as a house, as a heart.

“So, a date?” he asks shakily, trying to keep from jumping at Zayn. Zayn shakes his head but his lips quirk up, and he puts his head in his hands, takes a big trembling breath before laughing, deep and relieved.

Niall wants to say _ok I love you I trust you too please come back home to me_ and instead asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It’s quiet and more serious than he means it to be, but he wants, he wants to be with Zayn and he wants to work for it because loving Zayn is the easiest thing in the world; it was never a question of that.

Zayn backs him up against the ropes, settles tender hands on the sides of his face, and kisses him. His hands settle on the dip of Zayn’s waist, holding him steady. The feeling of love blossoms brightly, almost painfully in his chest, and he laughs shakily into Zayn’s mouth, feeling Zayn’s answering smile pressed against his cheek.

It feels like a sucker punch, not unlike what he felt the first time he saw Zayn, but full of hope and wonder and relief, the way their bodies line up, the way their hands come together, slotting together not quite perfectly but close enough. 

-

**A Year Later**

New Year’s has just passed, in a haze of laughter and family and muggy weather, and for once Zayn’s actually looking forward to going back to London. It’s so different from how he felt last year around this same time, and he’s inexplicably glad they got through that, that he’s here now. Niall’s text to him, an hour or so ago, reading _bout to leave, love you !_ leaves his heart light, and he smiles, reminded of it.

The spotty snow that had come in a week ago makes the roads slushy with half-melted ice and dirt, but Zayn likes it; it’ll give him an excuse to wear his doc martens and wrangle Niall in for cuddles even though that usually doesn’t take much. The lads had wanted to meet up, after New Year’s, but before school started, to ring in the New Year together, just the five of them this time. Louis had called him up when it hit midnight at home, and he hadn’t been able to say no, the tattoo on his ankle, the one they all got a month ago, tingling with homesickness.

He knows Harry’s already back, Liam and Louis coming in a bit later because they’d been visiting their girlfriends, and Niall the latest because he has to fly in. They’d kept in contact this time during winter break; they sent each other snapchats and skyped at night, when his family had gone to bed and he could fall asleep to Niall’s tired face and the calming lilt of his voice, missing him more than he could bear.

He opens the apartment with his own key, the heater already cranked up high and the smell of hot chocolate and sugar filling the air. He pulls off his beanie and goes to the kitchen, offering Harry his extra hair band because he knows he always forgets to tie up his hair when he’s cooking. Harry gives him a kiss to the cheek and strict instructions on how to mix the batter for the sugar cookies.

Louis and Liam come in next together, stamping at the door and throwing their chilly jackets in a pile on the sofa. Louis has a bottle of champagne clutched in his hand. Liam pulls Zayn into a bear hug when they get into the kitchen, Louis settling in next to him with a gentle hand on the nape of his neck.

They all slot back into each other easily. The time apart makes Zayn quieter, not out of shyness, but out of appreciation, drinking in their tired faces and familiar smiles. Louis badgers Harry for making hot chocolate (“Harry we’re meant to be celebrating New Years’, not our 50th birthday, we need bevs, not hot cocoa and cookies”) and Liam grabs stuff from the fridge to make cosmos, filling Zayn in on how his holidays with Sophia’s family went. Niall comes in last and Zayn can’t help pulling him into a kiss at the door, the dampness of Niall’s jacket leeching through his t-shirt. He doesn’t care, folds himself between Niall’s splayed legs against the door, lips lingering on his mouth, the curve of his jaw, his smile, until Harry’s calling for them from the kitchen.

“Missed you,” Zayn says, stepping back and letting Niall take off his shoes.

“Couldn’t tell,” Niall says, grinning and flushed, stepping in to kiss Zayn one more time before stripping off his jacket and taking his hand. He looks jetlagged and mussed, but he still hops onto the kitchen counter, goes to swipe a finger through the cookie dough when Harry’s not looking.

They spend the night drinking and finishing off Harry’s cookies and watching _Love Actually_ , on repeat on one of the channels. It’s two days past New Year’s, but they still wait until 12, Louis starting a countdown at 10 and the rest joining in with a chant once he gets down to five. It's silly and probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but them, but that makes it all the more special.

“Five,” and Niall squeezes Zayn’s hand, not having let go all night.

“Four,” and Harry tips into the both of them, Zayn brushing back his wild hair.

“Three,” and Liam gives Louis a gleeful look, knocking their shoulders together.

“Two,” and Louis cocks the champagne bottle back, cork ready to pop.

“One,” and they all lean in, watching the clock tick down.

It hits 12 and they all shout “Happy New Year,” Louis letting the cork go and showering them in a spray of foam, Liam laughing loud and bright as he whips it around. Harry’s trying to lick at the foam in the air, the champagne getting stuck in drops on his curls.

Zayn looks over at Niall. He’s sleepy and warm and quiet next to him, but he still grins at Zayn, mouthing a quiet "Happy New Year" just for him. Zayn leans in, kissing him and feeling content and drunk; he thinks, _I’ve found people that I love and who love me and_. Niall squeezes his hand and he thinks _I’m happy_.


End file.
